solemnly sickly and throw up feelings for rounds and rounds
you want another round?
the round's on me
here it is:

widely whet and appetite's broken fresh and free
clean and dowsed
and washed wide of harm and sprinkled full of harmony

to a little song
and a little bird
a motion mountain and a railroad runway,
i soar to the mountain of my hill named liberty
and seek the man named honour
and look for father service
and enroll myself into the time sands of the pre-eternal hourglass

may i sail upon your glassy seas of blue and sparkles
rippling free
and wandering for me
to come and land upon your
sparsely scoriae surface of jagged water pressured venomous rays of green and nuclear emeralds
created before you laid eggs
or mother goose
or tripping father time
cause they were never more than picturewords for my nucleic membrane
powered by fossil fuel
and jet stream planarians

till then
_
x